Vampyres
by ICRepresentative
Summary: In 1464, Van Helsing presses through the snow, seeking evil and his lost memories. He finds a small village populated by the undead... and secrets, lies and betrayal.
1. The Storm

**Disclaimer**: Van Helsing isn't mine. But I think it's cool.

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Outer Romania, 1464 _

Van Helsing made his way through the snow, the brim of his hat low over his face, and a scarf wrapped around his mouth. The snow was deep, but he never lost his footing. He never took his eyes off the village ahead of him, either… It was his destination.

And the destination of his prey.

Over the roar of the blizzard, Van Helsing heard the high-pitched scream of the wounded strigoi - he was close now, but he'd have to be careful. Knowing strigoi, it would probably head back to its nest, where its friends would be waiting for him.

Van Helsing readied his Tojo blades. The village was visible through the snow now. All the lights were out, there was no smoke from any of the chimneys; somewhere, a dog howled mournfully. Other than that, the village looked deserted. And it was encircled completely by a graveyard.

"Cheery little place," he muttered, to no-one in particular.

A shrieking wail cut through the snow once more. And then, the strigoi attacked.

Strigoi, from the Romanian word '_to yell_' and the Latin name for a blood-drinking creature known as the _strix_, these undead creatures weren't playing around. They wanted blood. Specifically, Van Helsing's blood, since he was the one who disturbed their night's hunting. True, Van Helsing hadn't been able to stop them from killing that shepherd, but he'd disturbed them. And that was excuse enough for the whole clan of undead creatures to come swooping through the snow, shrieking and screaming, claws out.

Just another day's work for Van Helsing.

* * *

He counted the bodies of the creatures that lay broken and defeated on the snowy ground around him. Twenty five. Van Helsing whistled. That was a lot of evil undead from just one pastoral village. He peered through the snow, seeing the rooftops of the houses through the storm. Maybe he should go down there and see just what it was that made the deceased people of the village rise from their graves after dark. Something in the village, perhaps? Or some outside influence? 

He looked back down at the bodies of the strigoi. No, he'd better finish this off first. It would be best that these things die… and never rise again. Van Helsing uncorked the bottle of holy water at his side and went from body to body, smearing the water on each of the creature's foreheads.

"Requiescant in pace." He murmured, as the last of the dead things scattered into dust and was blown away by the wind. The ashes mingled with the snow, and vanished in less than a heartbeat.

Van Helsing sighed. His life, his job, his curse - to vanquish evil. It should have finished with the death of that upstart young aristocrat. But it didn't. Something continued to push him onwards, seeking out decay and corruption of the vilest sort… It did not make him feel any better, it did not give him a sense of completion… but somehow it was what he knew he had to do. Somehow, he felt as if it was all he had left.

Sighing again, he looked up. And his hands went immediately to his Tojo blades. A figure was standing in the snow, watching him. Van Helsing waited for the creature to strike, trying to see what exactly it was.

To save him the trouble, she came through the snow towards him.

"Impressive work, stranger," she said softly, "But if you don't come out of the cold now, you'll be the first man _outside_ the village to join the ranks of the undead." She turned to go, heading in the opposite direction of the village.

Van Helsing frowned. She looked like a peasant woman. But what would a woman be doing standing out in the middle of a blizzard, especially with so many undead creatures lurking about?

"I have hot soup cooking, and a fire burning," she said, calling back over her shoulder. The storm nearly obliterated her words. "If you don't hurry, stranger, you'll never where I live. I've hidden it well."

_Hidden?_ Van Helsing wondered, _Hidden from what? Or whom?_

He looked back through the maze of tombstones and crypts towards the village. Still, it remained dark and seemingly empty. If there was a blizzard, wouldn't the villagers have fires going to keep themselves warm? Wouldn't there be some kind of light? Wouldn't there be a church? Something was very wrong here. Very wrong.

He turned back to where the figure of the woman was rapidly disappearing through the snow. What choice did he have? To the village, which seemed so empty and cold, or this strange woman's home?

_She did say she had hot soup_, he thought with a wry smile, and started trudging through the snow after her.

* * *

"Welcome to my humble abode," the woman shut the door behind Van Helsing. "Please, take a seat. I will be with you in a moment." She busied herself with the locks… and then struggled to lift a heavy iron bar from next to the door. 

Van Helsing allowed himself a moment to look around the woman's 'abode'. Small, but cosy. Herbs drying on the walls, food on the table, a bubbling cauldron over the fire. It looked like a typical peasant's home; a typical Romanian stone-walled cottage… but there were so many differences. The fire was not built in the fireplace, but in the middle of the room. The fireplace itself had been bricked up. The windows were boarded up, plastered over. There were boxes, sacks, and barrels aplenty, wall-to-wall, stacked to the ceiling. And everywhere, on every wall, on the stone of the fireplace, on the plaster across the window, a chalk drawing of a cross - as long as it was wide - in a circle, and a simplified drawing of a fish.

Van Helsing looked up. There was a very small hole in the roof for the smoke of the fire to escape. It was cut in the shape of a cross - also as long as it was wide - and, judging from what could be seen, there was a second roof over the top of that - no doubt to stop snow and rain from coming back in. A circle in chalk had been drawn around the cross-shaped hole.

He looked back at the woman. She was barring the door with the large rod of iron, struggling to fit it into place. Van Helsing came over to help her. It slid into its place with something of a final - if not protective - clank.

"My thanks," she smiled, breathing heavily from the exertions. "I'm still not used to lifting that damnab… that thing yet." She smiled, then nodded towards the fire. "I hope you're not a Jew, good sir - the soup is made from boar."

"I'm not," Van Helsing pulled the scarf off his face and let the fire melt away the chill of the blizzard outside. "But I hope you don't have anything against Jews."

The woman knelt down by the cauldron, her pale skin warming to the heat coming from the fire. "I don't," she said matter-of-factly, ladling a healthy portion of the bubbling brew into a bowl. "It's just hard to find fish or fowl at this time of year." She handed it to Van Helsing, and gestured to a small table near the fire, where a pair of comfortable - albeit slightly worn - chairs waited. "I apologise for the poor welcome you have received. Our village doesn't get many visitors."

Van Helsing pulled a wry face. "With all those strigoi, I'm not surprised." He blew the steam off his soup - it smelt really good, but he wasn't about to have any just yet. You could never be too careful… especially when you're locked in the house with the woman who made it. She could be trying to kill him, or drug him, or something.

The woman gave a short laugh. "Oh, that's not all we have, stranger. Wait until you meet the zmeu."

Van Helsing frowned. "The what?"

"Zmeu." She raised an eyebrow. "Like a dragon, but can take any form they will. Spit fire, steal livestock, cannot be killed by anything other than cold iron."

"Oh," he nodded, "Is that all." He shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he didn't really feel. "Doesn't sound like something I couldn't handle."

The woman pulled a face. "Zmeu, plural. As in, more than one. Not to mention the other creatures that live in the wilds, natural and otherwise." She stirred the soup listlessly. "Generally, they leave us alone. Especially since…" She paused, her face hardening, "Recent times." She looked over at Van Helsing. "You were a fool to come here." Her eyes were heavy, burdened.

Van Helsing jerked his head meaningfully towards the door. "Well, I can't exactly leave, now can I?" Outside, the blizzard seemed to be growing in intensity - it would be suicide to go outside. The rod of iron barring the doorway further illustrated Van Helsing's point. There was no escape… but this was a sanctuary. At least, it seemed to be. The woman said nothing, but turned back to the cauldron, and ladled herself a portion of the dark brown soup. She took a seat opposite Van Helsing, and started eating.

"What made you come here?" She asked him, drinking the soup from the side of the spoon.

Van Helsing shrugged. "I found a strigoi, and it was alone. And I know that those things…" He stopped, then amended, "I know they used to be people, but they're just monsters now. No offence to the dead."

"None taken," the woman said simply.

"Since strigoi hunt in packs," he continued, "I decided to follow this strigoi and finish the whole pack off at once."

The woman nodded. "Then, on behalf of my village, I thank you. For giving those poor souls rest, I thank you." She took another sip of her soup, then looked at Van Helsing curiously. "You aren't hungry?" She gestured to one of the crates along the back wall. "If you aren't, then I could at least get you a drink." She looked at him with veiled expectantly.

Van Helsing decided to try the soup - after all, it couldn't be poisoned if she was eating it too, and he did watch her serve it to him. He lifted the soup to his lips and blew away the steam. The woman watched him closely, her face blank, her eyes hooded.

The soup tasted… thick. Meaty, but flavoured with something more. It was dark. Strong. Van Helsing paused to gasp. There had to be some kind of alcohol in this, because no soup had a kick like that. Even boar soup didn't bite like that. It was slightly familiar… wait. Garlic. That was the flavour. Strong, bitter. Almost toxic. Along with the heavy greasy taste of the boar, the soup was thick with garlic. Some kind of garlic ale, maybe? Unusual. But not bad. Different, but not bad. "It's pretty good," he managed. "My compliments."

The woman wasn't listening. She was still looking at Van Helsing, but her mind was elsewhere. Her gaze was intense. And almost frightening.

"Miss?" Van Helsing frowned. "Are you… are you alright?" The wind screamed outside, and the sound of the snowfall began to sound even harder on the roof of the woman's hovel. The fire crackled and popped, and the cauldron of soup bubbled placidly.

"Don't listen to them." She said sharply. "Whatever happens, don't do what they want." She set down her bowl, and made for a table on the other side of the room, where cooking utensils were laid out. Van Helsing stayed where he was, but listened intently.

He didn't hear anything outside. Just the roar of the blizzard, the groan of the wind, the screech of the storm. But the woman seemed nervous - she stood at the table at the other end of the room, rearranging objects, picking things up and putting them down again. Doing something - anything - to distract herself. But from what?

Van Helsing could smell her fear, it was so tangible.

_Carina_…

He nearly dropped his spoon. There was something definitely out there. That long, drawn-out wail on the wind… that was a human voice. Or at least, a voice that sounded human. He reached for his pistol.

"No," the woman turned, her voice low and urgent, "Don't let them know you're here." Her dark brown eyes were wide with fear. Van Helsing nodded, and just sat back to wait. But he didn't have an appetite anymore. He set his soup bowl down.

_Carina… Carina…_

More than one voice now. In a chorus of pained pleading wails. Not strigoi, definitely not strigoi - the voices were too human to be strigoi. Van Helsing looked over to the woman. She had her eyes screwed tight, like she was in pain, but she continued to fiddle with the items on the table. As though it were the difference between life and death if she didn't move the spoons, rearrange the herbs, twist ragged washcloths over and in her hands…

_Carina… please… Help us… We're so cold…_

"Don't listen to them," the woman whispered, though it seemed she was talking more to herself. "Don't listen."

Van Helsing did not have to strain his ears anymore. The voices were getting closer. Close enough to hear at least twenty different voices, at least twenty different pleas. Maybe even more.

_Carina, my love… Please, Carina… My dear girl, let me in… Open the door… I'm so cold… I'm so hungry… Carina… Carina, please… Carina… Please… Carina, my love…_

The woman put her hands to her ears and knelt down on the floor, shaking and muttering to herself. From an unseen and intangible wind, the candles that lit her home died one by one, and the fire grew low, almost down to the embers. The darkness only seemed to make the voices grow stronger.

_Carina, why are you doing this?… Please, Carina… Heartless! So heartless! Do you hate us so much?… Please, Carina, listen to your mother!… Open the door, Carina!_

Van Helsing could barely stand it any more. The voices were so pathetic, so pleading. But at the same time, the smell of evil was getting thicker. Thicker than the taste of the soup. The garlic was overpowering. And that kept him balanced between alert and under the creatures' spell. Somehow, Van Helsing kept his head. And just as well.

There was a thud on the roof. And then another, and another, another, another. The voices came creeping through the slit in the ceiling, through the boards across the windows, through wood of the door. Scratches and scrapes across the windowpanes and walls teased and taunted along with the voices.

The voices, chanting over and over, in a slow, drawn out wail. "_Carina_… _Open the door_…"

Van Helsing found himself rising from his chair, heading for the door. He didn't want to, he should fight against it… He was going to open the door…

The woman looked up from her huddle on the floor, and swiftly hurried towards him. She laid a hand on his arm, gripping him hard, her eyes flinty despite the fear. When Van Helsing struggled in her grip, she gripped him harder through the jacket of his coat, gripping him so hard that Van Helsing felt her fingernails pressing into his skin. It hurt. The mist lifted from his mind. Van Helsing shook himself, and looked to the woman gratefully, but she had screwed her eyes tight again. The voices continued, pleading. And there was a harder, harsher edge to them.

"_Carina… Who is that in there?"_

"_Is someone there with you?"_

"_Who is that, Carina?"_

"_Will you open the door?"_

"_Carina, please, don't be so cruel!"_

"_Help us! Open the door!"_

The woman was trembling, and deadly pale. She looked like she was about to pass out. Van Helsing took her hand in his, and she seemed to draw strength from him. Just as he had woken from his state of near-hypnosis with her help, she was gaining strength from him. She smiled weakly, but said nothing. Van Helsing did likewise.

**_CARINA! OPEN THE DOOR!_**

The voice - if it was a voice - thundered across Van Helsing's senses, leaving him stunned. The woman fell backwards, landing on the floor, her eyes wide and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Van Helsing himself staggered to his knees. This movement loosened the rosary that was tied to his wrist. The sight of the cross gave him back his voice, and his strength. He lifted the tiny cross high.

"In the name of God, **_begone_**!"

The sound of the storm was punctuated by a hundred piercing shrieks of anger, and then… silence. But for the wind and the snow, silence. The fire grew back again, and the room was flooded with warm red firelight.

The woman sat up, slowly, shivering despite the fact she was right next to the fire. "Thankyou." She gasped. "Thankyou." She drew her cloak tighter around her and shivered again.

"What were those things?" Van Helsing asked.

Outside, the blizzard no longer seemed as furious as it once was. Even the roar of the blizzard, the groan of the wind, the screech of the storm seemed muted, as though it had been whipped to a fury by the voices of the creatures that had assaulted the woman's home.

The woman looked at Van Helsing, her eyes burdened and sad. "My entire village." She looked into the dancing flames of the fire, and sighed heavily. "Or what's left of them."

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A/N:** More to follow. Reviews make me happy. 


	2. The Villagers

**Disclaimer**: Van Helsing belongs to Scott Summers. And man, does it rock!

**A/N**: This title - and this chapter - has nothing to do with M. Night Shymalan's The Village.

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Van Helsing picked up a tarnished silver mirror from off the table. His reflection was obscured by a thin coating of dust. With the corner of his sleeve, he wiped it clean. That was better. His eyes stared back at him, intense and serious. It was unusual for a woman to leave a mirror so neglected, Van Helsing noted. Perhaps she had no need of it, if she never had any visitors. And her entire village was undead. 

The woman pulled a thick mass of blankets from behind a crate. "You're welcome to stay here," she said, laying the blankets down on the floor. "I certainly wouldn't recommend going outside in this storm."

"Not that I'm ungrateful or anything," Van Helsing set down the mirror and turned to face the woman, "But when can I leave?"

The woman looked up at him. "When the sun comes up would be safest."

Outside, the storm howled. "How do you tell when the sun comes up?"

The woman smiled. "Practice." She smoothed down the blankets, her smile fading. "I've been here a long time." She rose, and sat down on the chair in front of the fire. Van Helsing sat opposite her, picking up his bowl of soup where he'd left it.

"Thankyou," the woman said softly.

"For what?"

She did not lift her eyes from the flames. "For chasing away those… the villagers." She sighed. "Thankyou."

Van Helsing stared into the fire. Set in the middle of the room, it chased away every feeling of cold that there was. It was as if this home was protected from the horrific blizzard that raged outside.

"My name is Carina." She said. "As you heard them calling me."

"Do you know how it happened, Carina?" Van Helsing asked.

The woman shook her head, then paused, and nodded slowly. "Strange things have always plagued our village. Wild beasts, famines, blizzards that can last for months…"

Van Helsing looked to the door, alarmed. _Months_? Would he be trapped here for _months_?

The woman continued. "But a year ago… no, two years… one and a half, certainly…" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Perhaps I'd best start from the beginning. My father was a merchant trader. The best there was. He would be gone for years, buying, selling and trading goods, and coming back to our humble village with such treasures!" She smiled, lost in the memory.

One of the logs in the fire crumbled, sending up a wave of sparks in the air, as lithe and quick as fireflies.

"This," Carina gestured to the room, "was his warehouse. And his home. One year, my father took me with him. I saw such wonders; a sea frozen solid. Water that ran hot, coming from underground. Buildings that survived the fall of the Roman Empire. And above all things, the goods my father brought with him - which we thought so unimportant back in our village - sold for a king's ransom; and things which we found so wondrous and strange sold for a penny on the streets." She laughed, then was silent.

Van Helsing listened.

"When we returned," Carina continued, the laughter dying in her eyes, "There was… a stranger in the village." Carina swallowed, but ploughed on, as though it were a necessary evil to tell of the stranger in order to finish the story. "This was a year and a half ago. This village never gets many visitors… it was a rare novelty. And he… he was a handsome man. The girls were flocking to him. And the men were impressed with the stranger's bearing - he was clearly a noble, dressed in animal furs and fine silks, but he was also…" Carina struggled for a word, "A survivor. A man who looked capable of surviving anywhere, surviving anything." Carina lifted her eyes from the fire, and looked straight at Van Helsing. "Much like yourself."

Van Helsing didn't quite know whether that was a compliment or not. He continued to eat the soup Carina had made while she talked.

"My father - God rest his soul - did not trust the stranger." Carina's eyes went flint-hard. "He said he did not like the way that the stranger looked at me." A pause. "I did not like it either. There was something about the man that sent shivers up my spine. And he would always be there, following us, watching us. It was… unsettling.

"The people of our village were strangers to us now, saying things they had never said before, doing things they would not normally do." She looked helplessly at Van Helsing. "That is the best way I can explain it. The people of our village… changed. No, not changed. They had been _corrupted_." She cast her eyes back to the fire. "The stranger left after a few weeks. But what he had done… did not. I fled, I hid, taking refuge in my father's warehouse, barring myself in and leaving only when I had no other choice. But every night, the villagers come to my home, and… and they ask me to open the door." She sighed. "So, for now, I am safe. But the supplies will not last forever, and there is only so much a soul can endure."

"Why do they want you to open the door?" Van Helsing asked. "Why is that so important?"

Carina looked at him. "Vampyres. They're all vampyres. A whole village, corrupted by that lone stranger. A whole village… bar one woman." She closed her eyes and settled back into her chair, sighing.

Van Helsing stared into the fire as he ate the soup. Vampyres. He'd heard stories of vampyres, but knew little of them. He knew they drank blood, and they could be kept at bay by the cross, cold iron… and garlic.

That explained the copious amounts of garlic in the soup. It was a protection. Van Helsing looked around the room, seeing the encircled crosses in a new light. This, too, was a protection.

"Why the fish?" He asked. "I understand why you would draw crosses, but fish?"

"The name of God's Son, in Greek, was ichthus." She explained, her eyes still closed, "Early Christians, fearing persecution from Rome, would draw the fish to let other believers know that they followed God." She shifted position in the chair. "Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, and praise the Lord."

"Psalm 134," Van Helsing noted, surprised.

Carina lifted her head. "The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear?" She smiled faintly. "Psalm 27." She looked down at the fire again, her pale hands folded. "I find that Psalm 27 has the greatest relevance to my life at this point in time."

"Wait for the Lord," Van Helsing said, remembering it. "Be strong, take heart, and wait for the Lord."

Carina nodded, then looked at Van Helsing, curious. "You speak like a priest, sir, yet when you were dispatching those strigoi I saw a darker side of your nature. It was somewhat frightening."

"I am many things," Van Helsing admitted, finishing the soup and setting the bowl aside. "But I do not intend to be frightening."

Carina laughed. "I meant, frightening for the strigoi."

Van Helsing smiled. "That, I can assure you, _was_ intentional."

Carina smiled back at him, then turned to the fire, and sighed. "You should get some rest. In the morning, if the blizzard has let up, you are free to go." She rose to her feet and crossed the room. Van Helsing watched her, silently.

She picked up the mirror that Van Helsing had cleaned earlier, and examined her face in it. She touched her lips, her fingers lingering there, then set the mirror down determinedly.

"If they come back," she said, going to a mess of blankets in the corner, "Don't listen to them."

"I won't." Van Helsing assured her. He picked up the blankets that Carina had laid out for him off the floor, and wrapped them around him. He would not leave this chair. It was too comfortable. Besides - he felt safer sleeping upright. It was easier to protect himself that way. And Carina.

"Forgive me," Carina said, just before she lay down, "I do not know your name."

Van Helsing looked into the fire. The flames did not give him any answer. "Neither do I." He said softly. "But others call me… Van Helsing."

Carina nodded. "Then goodnight, Van Helsing." She lay down, and was asleep in an instant.

Van Helsing stared into the fire. But before drifting off, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Carina's father. The woman had said nothing of him beyond _God rest his soul_. If both he and Carina were wary of the stranger, and this was his warehouse, where was he?

* * *

Van Helsing woke suddenly. The room was dark - the fire had died, and it was growing steadily colder. The noise of the storm outside was still the same, but that was not what had woken him. 

There was the sound of cloth on cloth. Subtle footsteps. Soft breathing. As Van Helsing's eyes accustomed to the gloom, he smiled wryly at himself. Carina was awake, and moving around. She was probably going to rekindle the fire. Van Helsing closed his eyes, and willed his senses to accept the woman's presence.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder, followed by a gentle shaking. "Van Helsing? Van Helsing, wake up."

He sat up slowly. "Why?" He peered through the gloom, trying to make out her face. "What's going on?"

"It's morning," she whispered back. "Come, quickly." The hand on his shoulder vanished, and Carina's footsteps headed for the door.

Van Helsing rose, putting the blankets aside, and moved to follow her. While she undid the locks, Van Helsing lifted the iron rod from its place and set it down. Now, there was nothing between Van Helsing and his quest. His quest to rid the world of evil wherever he found it.

Carina paused, her hand on the wood of the door. Van Helsing saw her turn her face to him in the gloom.

"I have… Forgive me, this is foolish, but I have a favour to ask of you."

Van Helsing tilted his head to one side. "If it's within my power, I would be happy to help you."

Carina took a deep breath. "I have to go into the village."

"What?"

Carina sounded pained. "I was going to ask if you would escort me, but it was a foolish request."

"Carina," Van Helsing frowned, "Why would you want to go into the village?"

"They do not usually come to my home like this!" Carina hissed back, "I think it was because they were attacked first."

"I never…"

"The strigoi." Carina said, her voice almost pleading. "You killed the strigoi. That is why the villagers tried to attack me. They are weakening. Killing their servants weakened them even further."

Van Helsing heard the strange tone in the woman's voice. "And you want me to kill them? The villagers?"

Carina lowered her head and gave a choked sob. "No! I cannot ask you for that!" Her voice hardened. "They deserve their fates. They made their choice. But… but my father was taken from me. They… they took him from me. Stole him." She looked up at Van Helsing, eyes softened in the darkness. "They deny him a proper burial. And I thought… since you had killed the strigoi… weakened them… they might… they might give me his body…"

Van Helsing fixed his eyes on the wood of the door in front of him. He had no obligation to this woman. She gave him a sanctuary for a night, and fed him. Nothing that could not be repaid in coin. But he was not heartless. This woman loved her father very much, that much was clear. And the villagers - the vampyres - were evil; that was even clearer. And it was his quest to purge the world of evil. But she did not want him to kill the people of Carina's village. All Carina was asking of him was to help retrieve the body of her father.

"Do you know where your father is?"

Carina's choked sob was one of relief. "In the town centre. Where the church once stood."

"Once stood?"

Carina wrapped her cloak around her move securely. "They burned it down," she said simply, then opened the door and stepped out into the blizzard, retying her headscarf tight. Van Helsing followed close behind, pulling the scarf across his face. The cold of the blizzard was nothing compared to the cold that gripped his heart.

* * *

It seemed to Van Helsing that Carina's home did not seem that far from the village. It also did not seem as well hidden as she had claimed. But then, he knew where to look. In the blizzard, through the forest and the rolling hills, there was nothing visible, no sign of the place where Carina locked herself in. 

They now stood in the middle of the graveyard that encircled the village. Van Helsing felt a hand placed on his arm, and looked down to see concern in Carina's eyes.

"'Ware," she said, her voice low, "We enter a town of betrayal and death. Be on your guard."

Van Helsing nodded, and the two walked side-by-side through the graves towards the houses. Van Helsing was on his guard, as Carina had warned. His eyes lingered on the graves - none of them looked recently disturbed, but it was clear that they had been at some point in time. Glancing down at Carina, Van Helsing noted that the woman did not appear concerned, but he could sense the tension radiating off of her. He didn't blame her - they were walking into the middle of a lions' den.

As soon as Van Helsing's foot crossed the boundary line that separated graveyard from village, the storm suddenly ended. It was as simple as that - the wind died; the snow ceased to fly with icy savageness, content now to float gently downwards; and the dark clouds which blocked out the sky lightened. No golden beams of sunlight, though - it was as though the storm was holding its breath.

Van Helsing found this very unsettling. "Do you get this kind of weather often?" He asked Carina.

The woman had the strength to give him a withering look. "Didn't I tell you that strange things always happen in our village?"

Van Helsing shrugged. "That was not strange," he said, indicating the clouds, "That was bizarre."

Someone laughed. "Oh, yes, and Carina would know all about bizarre. The trader's daughter's seen more 'bizarre' things in her life than she likes to let on."

At '_all about bizarre_', Van Helsing had whirled to face the figure that stood in the middle of the path, in front of the burnt-out shell of a building. The stranger stood barefoot in the snow, smiling politely. Carina paled, her eyes wide, and she pulled closer to Van Helsing, seeking sanctuary.

The stranger ignored Carina, and turned his attentions to Van Helsing. "Greetings, sir, to our humble village." He gave an extravagant bow. "A pity you could not have come in the summer - the view is truly magnificent then. You can see for miles, instead of these bare inches in front of your face."

"Enough with the showmanship, Serafim," Carina snapped, though she shook with fear, "It does not become you."

The young man - Serafim - smiled apologetically at Van Helsing. It was hard not to notice the way the man's eye-teeth were slightly sharper than normal. "I apologise for Carina's manners. She does not know how to conduct herself with a guest present." He looked pointedly at Carina, the veiled threat in his tone unmistakeable, then smiled again at Van Helsing. "Come, friend, out of the cold. Our tavern serves excellent ale. The fare is not so poor either, considering how backwater we are."

"We're here for Carina's father," Van Helsing said flatly.

A flicker of irritation crossed the man's chiselled features for a moment. "Carina's father?" The man shrugged, almost apologetically. "He is dead."

"Give him to me, Serafim," Carina said, coolly.

Van Helsing looked down at the woman. She didn't sound frightened anymore. But then, she was not dealing with a vampyre - she was talking to one of the villagers. Wasn't she?

Serafim made a playful face. "Come, Carina, you really think I believe your 'I must give him a proper burial' story? I know you better than that."

"Then, once again, you prove that you do not know me at all." Carina was shaking with anger now. "I have to bury my father, Serafim!"

He flapped a hand, dismissively. "Bury him in the graveyard, then, with the rest of the dead."

"Carina," Van Helsing turned to her, "That not may be such a bad idea… now that the graveyard is empty."

Serafim's eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. "My mother rests in that graveyard."

Van Helsing shrugged. "Not anymore."

Carina gave a short laugh at the horrified expression on Serafim's face. "Serves you right for turning your mother into a strigoi, Serafim. Looks like you'll have to find some other old woman to be your servant."

Serafim turned to Van Helsing once more. "I would beg your apologies, sir. My fiancée," he shot another look at Carina, "Does not think before she speaks. It is a flaw I will have to accept… or see to."

Van Helsing frowned at Serafim. "Your fiancée?"

The young man looked surprised. "What, she didn't tell you?"

Carina dropped her head and muttered under her breath, neither admitting nor denying the fact.

"No," Van Helsing said after a moment, "She didn't." He shrugged. "Not that it matters, since I'm here to help her retrieve the body of her father, not marry her to you."

"Besides," Carina added, snarkily, "I cannot marry you, Serafim. You burned down the church and killed the clergy. How are we to be married without a proper ceremony?"

Serafim's smile twisted into a taunting leer. "Under the brush suits me just fine, my love."

Carina went pale, even more so. Van Helsing felt her grip his arm tightly, as though to draw strength from his presence, just as she had last night.

The snow continued to fall, light and innocent. The clouds overhead shifted, but still no sunshine.

In the ruins of the old church, there was a feeble groan.

Carina stared past Serafim, to the source of the noise. The young man standing in the path sighed irritably.

"What a nuisance," he muttered, "I had hoped to keep him as a bargaining chip."

"My father is _alive_?" Carina stared, horrified. "You kept him _alive_, Serafim?"

He shrugged. "You know better than anyone that we need fresh blood in order to live, Carina." He smiled politely at Van Helsing. "And why not keep Carina's father as such a food source?"

"You heartless bastard," Carina sounded disgusted, defeated.

Serafim's youthful features distorted with anger. "Heartless? _Heartless_? I am not the heartless one, Carina! I survive! As do we all! We need blood to live! And by blood we live, because by blood we were reborn!"

"Corrupted!" Carina said, angry but on the verge of tears, "You were corrupted! Made into monsters!"

Serafim's anger turned to rage. "You _dare_ to call _us_ monsters!"

In every house in the village, voices rose in shrieks. Doors and windows were flung open, and the villagers crowded into the streets, leaning out of windows and clambering across carts and crates, surrounding Van Helsing and Carina. But while they screeched and howled like demons from some flaming realm of Hell, their faces were calm, serene. Almost angelic. These people were perfect, beautiful. The sound of such unearthly voices from such beautiful people was terrifying.

Van Helsing readied his Tojo blades, preparing to fight. At the sight of his weapons, the villagers fell eerily silent. Serafim - calm once more - stood waiting at the end of the road. He made a motion with his hands, and two of the villagers disappeared into the ruins of the church, then returned a few moments later, dragging the body of an old man between them. Carina stifled a sob, glad to see her father alive, but did not rush forward. The villagers dropped the old man at Serafim's feet, then merged back into the crowd.

The old man moaned. He could not have been older than 40, but he was withered and pale, his lifeblood drained so that the vampyres could feed. He was deathly pale, and there were wounds around his neck and wrists, both old and new. Scars that would never heal.

Van Helsing could tell the man was not long for the world. Carina could tell as well, and hung her head and silently shed tears for her father's fate.

The snow continued to fall, as though the clouds were unaware of the brutal scene which was unfolding below.

"Well?" Serafim asked, his voice and manner unusually gentle. "Aren't you coming to see how he is?"

Carina lifted her tear-stained face, unable to speak.

Van Helsing stepped forward, and Carina, still clutching his arm, followed him. The crowd stood silent and still, following with their eyes. Serafim waited patiently as Van Helsing and Carina approached him.

"Take him," the young man said to Van Helsing. "Take him and bury him." He shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "It's the least you can do for her, stranger."

Carina knelt down by the body of her father, and held his withered hand in hers. The old man groaned, struggling to open his eyes, to look at the face of his daughter. Carina buried her face in the old man's hair, sobbing, trying to speak to him, trying to hear his feeble whispers. The relief in his eyes was undeniable - but was he relieved to see his daughter again? Was he relieved that he was free from the vampyres? Or was it something else?

Van Helsing held Serafim's gaze. Up close, there was no denying the aura of evil that surrounded this man like a cloak. Carina was right - it was a corruption. A taint of a single signature, which each villager bore on his or her soul. Every villager was a vampyre - and the taste of corruption and evil was thick.

"I could kill you all," Van Helsing replied calmly, flippantly, "And then Carina would never be bothered by your pleas to 'open the door' ever again. She would be free."

Serafim's lips twisted in amusement. "You really think so?" He chuckled. "I never thought I would see green in winter, stranger, but here you are. Standing right in front of me."

Van Helsing met the young man's gaze evenly, showing no fear, then he knelt down beside Carina. Pulling her away from her father's body, he raised her to her feet, then lifted the old man gingerly. He weighed no more than a sack of grain.

"Carina."

The woman turned back to face Serafim, her face tear-stained and wretched.

Serafim's face was softened with concern and affection that was in no way feigned. "It does not have to be like this, Carina. You could be immortal. You could live forever!"

Carina turned away from him. "One life on this bitter earth is hell as it is. I will not damn myself with an immortal life for anyone's sake."

Serafim's face nearly crumpled with regret and longing, then his eyes hardened, and all sympathy was gone. "You are damned, Carina. You just don't realise it yet." He paused, watching as Carina and Van Helsing dragged the old man away. "One day," Serafim called, "One day you will plead for the gift that was offered to us! One day, you will _beg_ for my blood to pass your lips!" He laughed and laughed, and the wind whipped up in response to his laugher. The blizzard was returning.

The villagers stood and watched silently as Carina and Van Helsing left the way they had come, dragging the old man between them, making slow and steady progress through the growing storm back to Carina's home.

**

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A/N:** This is turning out interesting, wouldn't you say? Reviews would be nice - and thankyou to those who reviewed already. You guys rule. 


	3. The Burial

**Disclaimer**: All credit for this fic goes to my fantastic brain… and Scott Summer's awesome brain too.

* * *

Van Helsing arranged the logs over the ashes of last night's fire and held a candle to the wood, waiting until the flames licked at the bark before looking towards Carina. 

The woman had been silent since Serafim had mocked her in the village, and had not said a word since they had arrived. She now knelt beside her father, watching him.

Watching him die.

There was nothing else she'd been able to do. The man's wounds were too severe, his blood loss too great for any recovery. Not only that, but the vampyres seemed to have some form of control over him - even though Carina's father was a victim, and not a vampyre himself, he was at their mercy.

And the vampyres, now that they could no longer drink his blood, wanted him dead. And so, he was dying.

"Ca… ri… na…"

Carina knelt closer to her father, her ear to his mouth, to listen to him. Van Helsing looked away, allowing them some privacy, and concentrated instead on the fire. It was burning now, but would not last if he did not put more wood on it.

The wind outside howled and raged. The blizzard was back again in force.

Carina rose to her feet, crossing the room to pick up an old leather-bound book. Kneeling once more by her father's side, she opened it and began to read.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust'."

Carina's father settled himself more comfortably in the blankets, and listened with his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes closed. Only the rise and fall of his chest showed that he was still alive.

"… His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear…" Carina steadied herself, then continued, "You will not fear the terror of the night, nor the arrows that flies by day, nor the pestilence that stalks in… in darkness." She closed her eyes for a moment, then continued, her voice strong and sure. "If you make the Most High your dwelling, then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your home. For He will command his angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways. They will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone… 'Because he loves me,' says the Lord, 'I will rescue him. I will protect him, for he acknowledged my name. He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honour him." Carina was near tears now, but she did not falter. "'With long life I will satisfy him, and show him my salvation'." She closed the Bible; her eyes as well, and quoted from a different psalm. "Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." She looked down at her father.

He was still now, but there was a smile on his face. He had been set free, and where he was, there was no more pain.

"Amen," Van Helsing said quietly.

"Amen," Carina echoed. She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Rest in peace, father." She reached out and rested her hand on his.

The fire was crackling now, and the room was slowly heating up. The cauldron on the fire would bubble soon, and the soup would be ready to eat. But Van Helsing didn't feel like eating.

"Why did you come here?" Carina asked, her voice barely a whisper. Van Helsing almost wondered if he'd imagined her speaking, until she turned her sad brown eyes towards him.

"I followed the strigoi," Van Helsing said, aware of the grief that Carina was trying her hardest to control. "I came to destroy them."

"What sane man hunts strigoi through a blizzard?"

"A man who is sent by God to hunt down evil, wherever it may be found."

She looked at him then, long and hard. "'Wherever it may be found'? How far have you travelled?"

Van Helsing looked into the fire. The flames flickered and leaped. "Far enough to see the world." He looked back at Carina. "And long enough to lose the memories of who I was before." Van Helsing sighed. "Now, I have nothing left but my quest to destroy evil."

Carina studied Van Helsing carefully, then looked away. "I do not envy you that." She stood up. "I will bury him now." She made for the door, and unbarred the way.

Van Helsing moved swiftly, and put a hand on her arm, stopping her. "You can't go out there. The vampyres could be waiting for you."

"It's early afternoon," she said calmly. "They can't harm me."

"And why would that be?"

"In sunlight, they can only take human form. They have none of their powers in the daylight hours." She pulled at the door.

Van Helsing put his hand on the door. "This is folly. The ground will be frozen solid - it will be days before you'd be able to dig a grave deep enough for him."

Carina's eyes were heavy and burdened once more. "I already have. I thought my father was dead long ago, and I dug him a grave." She looked away. "It's not far from here."

"Then I'll help you," Van Helsing said, "You shouldn't be doing this alone."

Carina looked at Van Helsing curiously, then nodded. "My thanks."

They carried Carina's father into the snow, where the blizzard lashed at them furiously. Van Helsing kept his guard up, expecting the vampyres to attack at any moment. Carina did not seem to care. She brushed away at the snow until she found the corner of a canvas cloth. Peeling it back, she revealed a deep hole, dug square in the ground.

"I have no coffin for him," she said, pushing the frozen cloth into the grave, fitting it perfectly. "This will… This will have to do."

"It's not very deep," Van Helsing noted.

Carina stared sightlessly at the open grave. "It will serve. Beasts and monsters alike… they do not feed on those the vampyres have tainted." She knelt down and put her arms under her father's, and started dragging him into the grave. Van Helsing stopped her.

"Let me," he said gently. Carina looked at him, too broken with grief to protest. She watched as Van Helsing placed the old man in the grave, arranging his hands so they crossed across his chest. Just like they had when Carina had read him the 91st Psalm. With a slight smile on his lips, Carina's father looked like he was sleeping.

"Requiescant in pace." Van Helsing said, crossing himself, and wishing the old man's soul on its way to God. After a moment's silence, he turned to offer some comfort to Carina. But she was not there.

Through the snow, Van Helsing saw her coming back out of the warehouse, her form almost obliterated by the furious blizzard. She was carrying something in both hands. A rod, a sceptre of some sort. A gift to bury with the dead?

It was a sword. She was drawing it as she approached the grave.

"Carina, what are you doing?"

Carina didn't say anything. Her eyes were glazed, dead, resigned to whatever task she had to perform. She pushed past Van Helsing, and knelt over the open grave.

The sword sang through the air, slicing snowflakes in two, and cleaving her father's head from his neck.

Van Helsing leapt forward, knocking the sword from Carina's hand. It fell softly into the snow, leeching pale blood into the surrounding flakes.

"What do you think you're doing!" Van Helsing shouted at her.

Carina met his stare evenly. "You know nothing of vampyres," she hissed. She turned away from him, and turned back to the grave. Pulling a small wreathe of withered flowers from her cloak, she leant down into the grave and picked up her father's head. Wincing slightly, she closed her eyes as she stuffed the plants into her father's mouth. Then she placed the head back in the grave… but between the corpse's knees. Only after she wrapped the canvas cloth around the old man's body did she finally allow herself to cry.

Van Helsing stared, confused and horrified by what he'd just seen.

Carina knelt by the graveside, no longer containing her grief, but venting her screams and cries to the wind. With every cry, she pushed a handful of earth onto her father's wrapped body. Within minutes, he was buried. The snow would obliterate the site of the grave mound in less time than the woman had been taken to bury her father. But Carina continued to cry.

Van Helsing turned away, giving the woman privacy as much to give himself some time to breathe, to sort out the thoughts in his head. Why had Carina desecrated the body in such a manner? Why had she said nothing? What manner of place was this? He shivered, though not just from the cold of the blizzard.

He looked back over his shoulder. Carina was still crying by the old man's grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth.

There was nothing Van Helsing could do for her. She wanted to be alone with her grief. And Van Helsing wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He headed back to the warehouse, his footsteps seeming loud and accusing in the snow. The wind whipped at him like clawed hands, chilling him to the bone.

He had nearly reached the warehouse when there was a cry on the wind. A high keening wail; too human to be strigoi, too unearthly to be human. A vampyre! There was no time to wonder - Van Helsing dashed back to where Carina was kneeling in the snow.

"Get up, quickly! They're coming!" She didn't move. "Come on!" He pulled her to her feet, then draped one of her arms over his shoulder and dragged her away from the grave, hurrying back to the warehouse… and the safety it offered them.

* * *

Van Helsing slid the iron bar back into place, fastened the locks tight, and listened carefully. It seemed quiet outside - despite the howl of the wind and the shriek of the blizzard, there was no further sound. No vampyres shrieking, crying, wailing. Just the storm, and nothing more. Van Helsing turned to Carina. She was standing at the far corner of the room, holding the tarnished mirror in both hands, staring at her reflection with blank eyes, totally absorbed; but somehow, not seeing herself at all, but something beyond. 

When Van Helsing had first found shelter here, it had been Carina's home. This place no longer felt safe. It felt like a tomb.

"Why did you do that to your father?" Van Helsing demanded, angry without reason. "Why did you desecrate his body?"

"To keep him safe," Carina whispered, her throat raw from mourning her father. "To protect him."

"To protect him from what?"

Carina did not lift her eyes from her reflection. "From the vampyres."

"He's dead, Carina. They can't harm him."

She sighed, and her eyes were burdened and sad once more. "They kept him alive for nearly a year, just so he could feed their horrible hunger. I thought he was dead. Now that he is…" She slowly set the mirror down on the table, but still did not look away from its polished surface. "He would have been the best way to get me to open the door."

Van Helsing frowned, wondering why the argument was becoming so circular. "But he's dead!"

"I KNOW THAT!" Carina whirled on Van Helsing, tears spilling out from her eyes. "But so are the vampyres!" Her voice shook, but still she continued. "They raid a grave as easily as you or I take a breath - their life is in the death of others. If they so choose, they could make my father a strigoi… or worse, one of _them_." Carina closed her eyes and began sobbing again. "Whether he is dead or alive, they would have taken him."

Van Helsing stared. The fire crackled and popped. Outside, the wind howled.

"I'm sorry," he said, after a long silence. "I didn't know."

Carina opened eyes that were filled with tears, but said nothing. She turned back to stare into the mirror, her hand straying to her eyes, her hair, her lips.

Van Helsing sat back down in one of the chairs and stared into the fire. The flames danced and swayed, taunting Van Helsing with promises of lost memories returned. He did not listen to them. Just as Carina did not listen to the voices that howled with the blizzard.

"If it's any consolation," Van Helsing said cautiously, looking up at the woman. "I admire the way you did not shrink from the task."

Carina turned slowly to face him, and shrugged hopelessly. "I did the best I could, given the circumstances."

"You know how to prevent the dead from rising."

Carina's eyes went dead. "The same way I learned to judge time from within these four walls - trail and error." She looked down. "I lost my mother and my brothers to the vampyres… because I did not know they needed to be protected after death. And I had seen other families within the village trying to protect their dead. Beheading, next to putting a stake into the heart of the dead, is the most effective form of preventing the dead from rising. Other methods were not as successful…" She trailed off, unable to continue.

Van Helsing looked back at the fire. A log crumbled away into ashes, and the fire dimmed. From the other side of the room, Carina headed for a pile of firewood. She picked one of the logs up and brought it to the fire, braving the heat of the flames to set it in place. She sat back, and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

As she did so, her sleeve slid back from her wrist.

"That looks like a nasty scar," Van Helsing noted, concerned.

Carina's hand snapped back out of sight, and she pulled her sleeve down. "It was an accident," she said, shortly.

"Are you sure?" Van Helsing asked, aroused to suspicion by the woman's reaction. "It looked like it was made on purpose."

"I didn't do it." Carina said stubbornly.

"Of course not," Van Helsing noted, setting aside his blanket and warming his hands at the fire. "Because it is a mortal sin to commit suicide."

Carina smiled acidly at him. "I may be Christian, Van Helsing, but I am no Catholic. I follow the Lord, not the clergy."

Van Helsing stared at Carina. "You _were_ trying to kill yourself?"

Carina sighed, suddenly irritated. "I told you, I did not cut myself. I didn't try to kill myself. I never have, and I never will." She looked at her wrist, an expression akin to despair flitting across her face. "This was not me. This was not my choice."

Van Helsing stared at the woman for a long moment. Neither he nor Carina spoke. Finally, she rose to her feet and headed back for the mirror, touching her lips, her eyes, her hair… and she held her wrist up to the mirror to examine it.

Under drab peasant garb in dull browns and greens, with her hair hidden under that headscarf and tears in her eyes, Carina could have been any woman in any village across Romania. She could have been anyone at all. If it wasn't for the scar, she might have been anyone at all.

The fire crackled and snapped, the flames licking at the new log greedily. Outside, the wind howled and screeched, the sound of light snowfall muffled and soft.

"How long have you known?" Van Helsing asked quietly.

Carina turned back to face him, a strange light burning in her eyes. She said nothing, but peeled off the headscarf and pulled at the ribbon that held her hair. Long beautiful tresses of glorious chestnut hair cascaded down. She ruffled her hair slightly, freeing it, before lowering her hands and meeting Van Helsing dead in the eye.

Her eyes had not been brown. They had been the muted colour of new amber. Now, they shone in all their golden glory. Her lips were vivid red, her pale skin almost luminescent. Everything about Carina was different - she was bright and beautiful now, now that she was no longer hiding behind pretences.

"I was wondering when you'd realise," she said softly, the points of her teeth showing in the red firelight.

**

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A/N:** -gasp- 


	4. The Decision

**Disclaimer**: Scott Summers owns Van Helsing. And he rocks because of it.

**A/N**: I would like to thank the people who have reviewed so far. Thankyou. You guys rock.

* * *

Van Helsing's blades were in his hands faster than a lightning strike. Carina did not even blink - but she did not turn her back on him either. She watched him, something like pity in her eyes. Pity for him? Or for herself? 

"You're one of them!" Van Helsing hissed, backing away. "You're a vampyre!" What a fool he'd been! He had to get out of here. He had to get to the door, rip it off its hinges and get the hell out of there…

Carina watched him, her eyes burdened with sadness. "You strike me as the kind of man who would not draw his weapons without the intent to draw blood." She paused, watching him. "Why hesitate? Why not strike me down?"

Van Helsing paused. _Because you are a woman. Because you are not evil. Because I sense nothing evil in you, or about you. Because I trust you._ "Because you showed me kindness," he said after a moment, "Even if now I see your intent."

"Intent?" Carina sounded incredulous. "I had no hidden intent. You were alone, out in the worst blizzard this village had seen for years, and you had just emptied the graveyard of the vampyre's servants."

"Your servants, you mean."

Carina's face turned sad. "Is that what you think I am?" She whispered, her face still tear-streaked. "Is that all I am to you?"

She was taunting him. She was pleading with him. Which was it? One, or the other… or both? Van Helsing narrowed his eyes, but slowly lowered his blades. Carina's expression did not change.

"You're a vampyre." He said finally. Accusingly.

The woman nodded slowly, then paused, and shook her head. "No. I do not… I do not think I am." She set her face, then added with a stronger voice, "No. I am not. I am not a vampyre." Then her eyes veiled. "Not yet."

Van Helsing put his blades away, reaching for his pistol instead. Carina's lips twisted, and she turned away. She picked up the tarnished mirror and stared into it.

"You don't think you're a vampyre?" Van Helsing leant against the wall, reloading the gun deliberately loud. "Why would that be?"

"A vampyre has no reflection," Carina whispered. She turned back to face Van Helsing, the mirror held in both hands. "Yet I do." She touched her lips, parting them in a grimace so her fingers could tap the pointed eye-teeth. "I used to check everyday that there was a face in the mirror. It seemed… morbid of me, so I stopped."

_That would explain the dust._

Outside, the howling wind seemed hushed. The sound of snow falling, the sound of the fire crackling and burning, and the sound of the soup in the cauldron bubbling, seemed placid and peaceful. Or should it be, _deceptive_?

"How much blood was in the soup, Carina?"

She winced. "None! None at all! I refuse to… to…" She choked on the words. "I'm no animal. Nor am I a demon." She set the mirror down on the table, and moved towards him. Van Helsing aimed his pistol, but she was only moving for the cauldron… to stir the soup.

"I told you that you were a fool to come here," Carina reminded him, shaking her head sadly.

"And I told you that I couldn't exactly leave." Van Helsing managed a wry smile.

Carina did not return it. "You are free to leave," she said. "Now that you know the truth of who I am… or rather, what you think I am… You are free to leave. To flee from this place." She gave the soup one final stir. "You are not a prisoner here, Van Helsing. You are free to go."

Van Helsing frowned. None of this was making sense. He remembered Serafim's words. _I never thought I would see green in winter, stranger, but here you are. Standing right in front of me._ There was no sense of evil coming from this woman. Yet… That had been her cry on the wind when she had knelt at her father's grave - the vampyre cry. And then there were those fangs… Those eyes… That face, _that beautiful face_… "Are you a vampyre or not, Carina?"

Carina said nothing.

Van Helsing watched her for a long moment, weighing up his options. Finally, he put the pistol away and sat in the chair beside hers. "You could have drugged - or poisoned - the soup," he said. "You could have killed me, drank my blood when I was sleeping, or turned me over to the vampyres in the village, let them kill me. Why didn't you?"

"Because I am not one of them." She stared into the fire, her long pale hands pulling at her skirt restlessly. "Not yet. And not ever, if I have anything to say about it." She looked as though she were about to say something more, but did not. She glanced at Van Helsing, then away, as though ashamed. Or, perhaps, not shame, but something else.

The blizzard whipped around the warehouse, battering at the unyielding stone walls. The fire burned hot and red, colouring Carina's pale face. Van Helsing saw then how easily he had been deceived - he did not see evil, did not see a vampyre in Carina because there was no evil, no vampyre, there to see. She was still human, but… barely.

"How did it happen?" He asked softly.

Carina held up her wrist for Van Helsing's inspection, but said nothing.

"Was it Serafim?" He asked.

Carina shook her head. "He would not have had the stomach for that. He loved me too dearly." She sounded regretful, wistful. "I was so pleased to hear of our betrothal. I loved him. I loved him with all my heart." She sighed, her eyes lifeless again. "But that was years ago. Two very long years."

"Do you still love him?" Van Helsing asked, a little awkwardly.

"No." Carina said firmly. "Serafim is dead to me now. My love is dead and gone."

Van Helsing was beginning to see the holes in Carina's first story filling in. "The stranger infected your village, you said. He corrupted the villagers. He corrupted you."

Carina nodded. "I was not one of the first, but I did not know what he… what him drinking my blood had done to me." She looked over at Van Helsing. "I did not want him to drink my blood, understand that. But I…" She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. "His eyes! I could not move! And then… his teeth… and my hand… I screamed, and ran, but the damage had been done." She stroked the scar on her wrist gingerly. "The next morning, I could not step out into the sun. It… it pained me."

"I thought you said that vampyres could walk during the daylight, that they just didn't have any powers," Van Helsing pointed out, "And we both saw Serafim and the villagers this morning. Standing outside."

Carina sighed. "The sun was hidden behind the clouds, Van Helsing. Direct sunlight can kill a vampyre, but if there is no sunlight visible, they are free to walk."

"Free to walk?"

Carina's lip curled with distaste. "During the daylight hours, they sleep in coffins. They are the living dead, and like the living, they need sleep. So their strength can be restored. Just as you or I…" She paused, then corrected herself, "Just as _you_ would sleep at night, they sleep during the day."

"Like bats," Van Helsing sat back in his chair and stared into the flames.

Carina said nothing, but sat forward and stirred the soup with the ladle. Slowly, deliberately. Then she sat back in the chair and closed her eyes, murmuring a psalm to herself.

"What else?" Van Helsing asked, when Carina had finished.

Carina sighed, but did not open her eyes. "Serafim came knocking on my door three nights later. He had… the stranger's showmanship now. A flair for the dramatic. And he was proud in his… in his new form. Proud in his immortality. He pleaded with me to join him." Carina's voice was flat. "I told him that he was dead to me. I told him to leave me. And, just like that, the man I loved was gone. Replaced by a cruel and bitter man, twisted by blood and promises."

"And the villagers attacked your home after that?"

"Yes," Carina nodded, her eyes still closed. "And they stole my father, when he went out one night to cut firewood. Stole him, and said they would free him if I joined them. I refused."

Van Helsing stared at Carina. "That sounds heartless."

Carina's eyes snapped open, and she glared at him. "Don't call me heartless, Van Helsing!" She narrowed her amber eyes at him, then sighed and closed them again. "My father made me promise _never_ to help him if such a thing happened."

Van Helsing looked back at the fire. The villagers mocked Carina for her heartlessness… but it must have broken her heart to leave her father at the mercy of the vampyres. She had been left with no choice. He apologised, saying, "I didn't know."

"No," Carina sighed sadly. "There is much you don't."

"Then tell me everything you know. Everything you know about vampyres. Their weaknesses, their strengths, their powers. Everything."

Carina's lips twisted with something akin to amusement. "Why so many questions?"

"Why do you think?" Van Helsing's face was set, and his voice was hard.

Carina's eyes snapped open with surprise. She looked sharply, admiringly, at Van Helsing, then sighed and shook her head. "Killing the villagers won't do any good," she said, "The curse did not begin with them. You won't free me by killing them."

"I could at least put them to rest," Van Helsing looked towards to the door. The storm outside seemed to be gathering strength again. "Just as I did the strigoi."

Carina looked at Van Helsing, her eyes brimming with tears, then she looked away again. "Just as the strigoi…" She took a shuddering breath. "You saw what I did to my father," she said. "That is what you must do to anyone who has died after being corrupted by the vampyre taint."

"And how would one kill a vampyre? Not just one who was killed by the vampyres, but a vampyre itself?"

Carina lifted her head, a strange light in her eyes. "I saw a fight in the village once," she said, her voice and eyes distant. "Two uncorrupted villagers were trying to kill Serafim. The cross… repelled him. And two wreaths of garlic protected the villagers."

Van Helsing glanced up at the crosses and the _ichthus_ on the walls. Along with the garlic in the soup, Carina was keeping the vampyre's curse at bay with the Word and the Name of God, as well as an image of His sacrifice. It _was_ a protection - she was trying to protect herself _from herself_, as well as protecting herself from the villagers.

"One of them had a piece of wood - nothing more than a sharpened stick, really - and they were trying to drive it into his heart. It was a primitive last attempt to save themselves… and to take one of the _monsters_ with them. Serafim's sister rushed to her brother's aid - she too was a vampyre - and the stake plunged into her heart. A happy accident. She was destroyed."

_A stake through the heart._

"Of course," Carina continued, absently, "Then Serafim ripped the wreaths off the men's necks and tore them apart." She shuddered at the memory.

Van Helsing took a moment to digest that. "Is there… any other way? Other than a stake through the heart? And contact with direct sunlight?"

The strange light in Carina's amber eyes was still burning. "I don't know," she said faintly. "Why don't you find out?" She rose and crossed the room, then turned back to face Van Helsing, waiting.

The flames leapt up for a moment, and the sparks flickered brightly. The wind outside sniggered through the hole in the roof, twirling the smoke from the fire playfully. Teasingly.

Van Helsing stared at the woman. "You want me to kill you?" He shook his head. "Never!" he said, vehemently. "I could never kill you!"

"Why not?" Carina said, snapping slightly. "You want to kill the vampyres, rid the world of their taint and their evil? If you leave me alive, there will _always_ be one left."

"I could not kill you."

"The alternative is suicide," Carina said bitterly, "And I lack the cowardice to even attempt such a thing."

Van Helsing sighed heavily. "Carina, please."

"I want to die!" She said, her voice trembling, catching on a sob.

The storm started screaming - the winds were whipping into a fury that was beyond compare. Heavy thuds began to hit the walls and ceiling - hailstones, from the sound of it. No longer gentle snow, but heavy rocks of ice.

"Don't wish for such a thing," Van Helsing said, a slight warning in his voice. He rose out of the chair and crossed the room, going towards her. Carina looked at him, trying to hold herself together, then gave up and sobbed.

Van Helsing could offer her no comfort - he was too wary of her now to allow her to sob on his shoulder, too wary to reach up a hand to wipe away her tears. He did not wish to touch her. She would just have to take comfort from the fact that he was near her.

"I can't go on like this," Carina murmured, calming slightly. "Every night, they plead with me to open the door… every night I get weaker and weaker…" She looked at Van Helsing. "He's coming back, you know. That was his voice last night - the voice that wasn't a voice. The one that… that brought me to my knees, that made you stagger. That was him. It's getting clearer. He's coming back for me."

Van Helsing frowned. "Who's coming back for you?"

Carina sobbed. "The Devil's own. The stranger. The one who poisoned me. He's coming back to finish what he started. He's coming… for me."

"Why would he do that?" Van Helsing frowned.

Carina wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. "Because I'm the last. The last of his experiments. He wants to test the extent of his power." She gave something of a sneer. "He wants to see how others survive as vampyres. We are his experiments. His playthings. But as long as I'm here, he cannot move on. He wants to know just what his powers can do. What powers we have."

"And you're not fully vampyre."

"Not yet." Carina said bitterly. "But he's coming back. He's coming back to finish what he started."

Van Helsing took a breath, trying to calm himself. "How long do you have?"

"Can you hear the storm?" She asked. It howled and raged like a savage beast, the hailstones thundering down and down like stones from the skies.

"What of it?" Van Helsing frowned.

Carina nodded to the door. "He's coming." She sighed. "Nature itself rebels against his passing. And in this place, where the land and the people were once so close, where ancient magic and superstition still reign…" She left the sentence hanging, and went instead to stir the soup.

Van Helsing listened to the storm. A dog howled mournfully somewhere, off in the distance. The hailstones continued their rapid-fire tattoo on the roof and the walls. The fire crackled and burned, sparks and smoke rising to the narrow slits in the roof.

"I'm going out there." Van Helsing said. Carina looked up at him, a spark of hope burning dim in her eyes. "Alone," he added firmly.

Carina's lips twisted slightly and she turned away from him, but she said nothing.

"It's not that I don't trust you," Van Helsing said calmly, rechecking that his pistol was primed and readied, "But I don't need any distraction."

"I apologise that I'm so distracting," Carina snapped.

Van Helsing frowned. The woman suddenly seemed very edgy. "What's wrong?"

"Don't you understand?" Carina threw the ladle back into the cauldron with a splash. "If you kill the stranger, all of the vampyres die with him!" She turned to him, snarling. "Van Helsing, kill me now. I will not die tied to that man. Kill me yourself."

Van Helsing made for the door. "You said you weren't sure whether you were vampyre or human."

"I am both and neither," she hissed. "Tainted by his… by his evil, I am sure to die with him."

"You don't know that." Van Helsing said, trying to calm her down.

"Do you really wish to test that theory? You wish to _experiment_ on me?" She raised a savage eyebrow. "You are as bad as he is! Kill me, Van Helsing!"

"I can't," he said. He turned away from her, from those eyes, those beautiful eyes in that beautiful face. "I can't kill anything that is free from the taint of evil."

"Then perhaps you need some motivation!"

Van Helsing whirled, but not fast enough. Carina had leapt on him, screeching and sobbing. Despite the fury of her kicks and punches, she wasn't doing any damage to him. She wasn't hurting him - she wasn't even trying to.

"Kill me, Van Helsing!"

"Carina, stop this!"

"Kill me!"

Van Helsing grabbed Carina's wrists, turned her, pushed her against the wall. "Stop this, please."

Carina, pinned like a butterfly on a board, continued to struggle. "Please," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Give me a noble death. Don't let me die like some dog at that monster's leash."

The anguish in her face was almost heart-breaking; Van Helsing had to look away. "I can't," he whispered. "I couldn't kill you."

He couldn't kill her for the same reason that she could not harm him.

Carina gave a small cry of despair, then ceased her struggling. Van Helsing let her down. Carina watched him as he lifted the iron bar out of its place across the door, watched him as he undid the locks, watched him as he opened the door.

A cold gust of wind burst into the room, sweeping a flurry of snow and the sound of the storm in with it. The fire blew low, almost dying, but struggled back, refusing to die, refusing to be extinguished. Van Helsing looked at the fire, seeing, perhaps, a flicker of memory, or maybe a reflection of the human soul.

He looked up at the woman. The flames' reflections flickered in her amber eyes. Her soul still burned, but it burned dull. Hope was all she had to keep her burning.

"God keep you safe," Carina whispered. "You fight the Devil's son."

"The Lord is my light and my salvation," Van Helsing said. "Whom shall I fear?" He smiled slightly, then added, "I do believe that is your favourite Psalm."

Carina smiled faintly, but there was such a sadness in her eyes. "Goodbye, Van Helsing." She whispered. "Goodbye."

Van Helsing trudged out into the snow, bracing himself against the wind and the cold, and the hail which still fell mercilessly, hard and unyielding as stone. He heard Carina shutting the door, binding the locks; heard the heavy thud of the iron bar falling into place. Carina had sealed herself back into her home, and would be waiting.

Waiting for her freedom, or her death.

Van Helsing sighed, his breath smoking in the winter air. He felt plagued by questions that he knew had no answer. Who was the stranger, the one who corrupted Carina's whole village? How had they been so easily persuaded? How many had fought, as Carina had fought? How many of the strigoi - the creatures that had led Van Helsing to this village - had been unwilling victims of the vampyre's curse? Who _was_ the stranger? Where did he come from? Where did his powers come from? Why waste so much energy on trying to force one woman into vampyrism? For some experiment of the stranger's sick design? Or something more?

_Goodbye, Van Helsing. Goodbye._

Van Helsing stopped, nearly losing balance in the snow. Why did she say goodbye? Gripped with a sudden misgiving, Van Helsing checked himself.

His pistol was gone.

* * *

He raced back to the warehouse, and pounded on the heavy wooden door. "Carina!" He shouted. "Carina!" He pounded with his fists, hoping, praying, that she could hear him. "Carina, open the door!" 

_Carina, open the door!_

Van Helsing stepped back, breathing heavily. Carina would not open the door to anyone who screamed that out - she had made that much very clear. _Don't listen to them!_ If you were not invited in, you were not welcome.

She was going to kill herself after all. _With my own weapon_!

Van Helsing pounded on the door. "Carina! It's Van Helsing! Please!"

Silence inside. Only the whip and hiss of the wind answered him. The hail stopped, and the wind died slightly, as though the storm was watching curiously to see what Van Helsing would do.

"Carina!" He stepped back. There had to be something he could do… something…

The roof. The hole in the roof - it was only thatching and wood up there. The vampyres could not enter because it was in the shape of the cross - but Van Helsing could.

He scrambled around the side of the house, looking for some way to scale the walls. Looking for something, anything…

Nothing. Only snow and stone. A different man would have cursed. But Van Helsing refused to be stopped. He had other weapons - among them, blades of every sort. He could only pray that the walls of Carina's home were thick - he would not want to bring it down upon her. He selected two blades, and, checking they were firmly secured in each hand, jammed the first between the stones of the wall.

The wall held, and the blade did not slip. Perfect. Van Helsing jammed the second knife into another crevice, and slowly heaved himself up the wall, inch by inch. By the time he reached the roof, his arms were shaking with exhaustion. But he did not stop. He scrambled across the roof, heading for the hole which passed for a chimney.

There was no time to call out to her. She would hear him and kill herself sooner. Without a second thought, he ripped away the overhang, then kicked at the snow-covered wood and thatching of the chimney slit until it widened and collapsed. Then, he jumped down.

Snow cascaded down with him, hitting the fire and melting into water, hissing and spitting into steam. Ice fell, hitting the floor with porcelain music.

Van Helsing looked around. Carina was alive - sitting in her chair by the fire, with her mirror, of all things! - and staring at him with a horrified expression on her face.

"You destroyed my sanctuary!" She gasped, horrified.

Van Helsing sighed, relieved she was still alive, but irritated by her response. "Well, I did knock."

"I only heard Serafim," she said, composing herself and looking back into the mirror she held in her hands. "I did not hear you."

"Serafim?"

There was a cry on the wind, a long wailing cry which seemed to be getting louder and louder, closer and closer. Unmuffled by the stone walls, it whirled around the room and in Van Helsing's head. The shrill of a vampyre.

_Carina…_

"I told you," Carina said, still watching her reflection. "Now that you have broken the roof, there is nothing to stop him from coming in." She said this calmly, but her hands shook, and her face complexion grew even paler.

"You had my gun," Van Helsing said, by way of an apology. "I thought the worst."

Carina looked up at him, and Van Helsing was taken aback. While Carina's eyes had been sad or dead before, these eyes were the most lifeless eyes he'd ever seen. There was no hope in them.

The fire died, smothered by snow and ice, and crushed by the bitter wind. The screams of the wind seemed like mocking laughter, and the snow fell in fist-sized flakes which refused to melt. This was their warehouse now; it was Carina's sanctuary no longer. It would be a warehouse of cold. A warehouse of snow. A warehouse of death.

_Carina… Carina…_

"Where can I go now, Van Helsing?" Carina asked him, her voice flat and dead, "Where can I go that I will not be pursued, or hunted, or captured, or killed? Where is it safe? Where is a sanctuary?"

Van Helsing said the first thing which came to his mind. "Rome. To the Vatican."

A spark of hope lit briefly in Carina's eyes, then died. "I am no Catholic."

"That doesn't matter," Van Helsing said, crossing the room, stepping over the ashes of the dead fire to be near her. "They'll protect you there. The Lord will protect you. You have faith, don't you? You'll be safe."

_Carina… Carina, my love…_

"But we have to leave now," Van Helsing added. "And quickly."

Carina looked up at Van Helsing, her eyes flickering to the hole in the roof. "Rome," she said softly. "I haven't been to Rome in so long…" She smiled - there was hope again in her amber eyes. Hope… and freedom. She set her mirror down, and nodded at Van Helsing. "Yes, Rome. Let us go." She went to the door, and with feverish hands started undoing the locks. Van Helsing came to her side, and lifted the iron bar, throwing it aside. It landed with a heavy thud, digging a trench in the floor as it came to rest.

Carina retied the headscarf around her hair, then fumbled in her shawl. "This is yours," She said, holding out the pistol to Van Helsing. "I did not intend on using it, though. Forgive me for stealing it from you."

Van Helsing smiled at her. "When you get to the Vatican, confess to a priest."

"But _you_ don't forgive me?" She asked, giving a brief impish smile.

Van Helsing smiled back, and rested a hand on her arm. "Of course I forgive you. Just… don't do it again."

"_**CARINA!"**_

Van Helsing and Carina turned to see the savage snarling face of Serafim, framed in the hole in the roof. He was still human… but barely. There was no hiding the fangs now, nor the demonic colour that burned in his eyes. The grave-grey colour of his skin. The smell of evil coming off of him in waves.

"Oh, no…" Carina whispered, gripping Van Helsing's arm. "It's sunset."

"Carina…" Serafim stared darkly down into the warehouse, kept at bay by the crosses and fish in chalk. "You are mine! You belong to no-one else! You know that! Yet here you are, consorting with this _stranger_!"

Van Helsing suddenly realised how close he was standing to Carina. From Serafim's angle, it would have been a simple mistake to make. It was not Van Helsing's intention to anger an already angry vampyre. But he got no chance to explain himself.

Carina raised the pistol and fired. One, two, three explosions, the bullets singing true through the blizzard air towards the hole in the roof. Serafim hissed, and vanished out of sight.

"I am not yours!" She screamed. "And I never will be!" She fired at the empty hole twice more. "GET AWAY FROM ME!" She screamed louder, and her vampyre rage distorted her words, "**_I HATE YOU, SERAFIM_**!"

The wind died without ceremony.

In the silence, where the storm was stilled, Van Helsing heard the vampyre's wail… getting softer and softer and further and further away. It sounded as though he was sobbing, but that might have been the wind.

"Quickly," he grabbed Carina's arm, "We have to go."

"No," she said, pulling away from him, the pistol still firm in her grip, "It's after dark now. The vampyres will be out in force. We'll be slaughtered."

"Then what do you propose we do?" Van Helsing asked, a little snappishly. "Stay here and defend a home that has already been breeched?"

Carina bit her lip, her slightly pointed teeth suddenly very noticeable. However, Van Helsing noticed, they were not as long as Serafim's had been.

"Then we must run," she said finally. "Run and never look back."

"Couldn't have come up with a better plan myself," Van Helsing agreed, and threw the door wide. Together, they hurried out into the calm, running through the snow and the cold, going as fast as they could.

The air was crisp and bracing - it no longer seemed bitter or biting. The snow seemed to part before them like a gossamer curtain. It seemed to beckon them on, helping them as they fled. Their breath smoked in plumes in front of them. It seemed as though the weather was urging them on, silently cheering for them to hurry, to run, to escape…

Van Helsing found himself glancing at Carina as he ran. There was life in her now, a hope burning bright in her eyes that seemed like it wouldn't die. From this tiny village in Romania to the Vatican City was a long way, but it was something to hope for. It was better than languishing in four walls, day-by-day being destroyed by fear. He smiled. Carina would survive this. She would finally be free. Carina looked over, and smiled back at him as they ran. She seemed to be thinking the exact same things.

They got as far as the grave of Carina's father before she staggered, falling to her knees in the snow.

"Too late," she gasped, as though she'd been punched in the gut. "He's here."


	5. The Vampyre

**Disclaimer**: Van Helsing was such an awesome film. Garlic and stakes to those who say otherwise.

**A/N**: **-edit-** Found the historically accurate spelling of the vampire'sname.

* * *

The snow swirled around them, and darkness fell like a stone. Van Helsing's Tojo blades were readied, every sense strained to the limit, but he could hear nothing, see nothing. The storm which had been so beneficial in their flight moments before was now closing around them like a net. And the darkness of the night was doubly so. 

Carina was on her knees, gasping like a landed fish. Van Helsing went to her side.

"Come on, Carina," He tried to help her up, "We have to keep moving."

She fell sideways into the snow, and continued to gasp and writhe. Her eyes rolled, but whenever they focused on Van Helsing they were pleading, begging. Begging for what? Help? Protection?

Death?

"Come on!" Van Helsing tried to pull the woman upright, but he did not take the weapons from his hands. "Don't give up now, Carina! Don't give up!"

Van Helsing managed to get her upright again, and they sat together, Carina slumped in his arms, her hands clawing at the air as she struggled to breathe. Van Helsing put his arms around her, and she grabbed onto them, holding him close. The first night they'd met, Carina had gripped Van Helsing's arm so hard she'd left fingernail imprints. Tonight, she would grip harder.

"Come on," Van Helsing tried to keep his voice calm, "Come on, Carina. Breathe! Breathe!"

She gaped and gasped, her eyes rolling. Her lips moved, as though she was trying to say something, but she couldn't form the words. Van Helsing felt her fingers grip him hard through his coat-sleeves. Something warm trickled down his wrist. Blood.

"Get up, Carina!" Van Helsing peered through the storm. It seemed to be growing in intensity. White snow on black sky. The snare was closing. "We have to go, now!"

Carina's gasping slowed, as though she were gradually regaining the ability to breathe. She looked up at Van Helsing, imploringly. "Please…" she whispered. Then, she went rigid, and she silently formed the word 'no' with her lips. The hope - the life - in her eyes died, turned from flame to ashes in less than a moment.

Over the storm, Van Helsing heard voices.

_"… mine, like you said she would be." _

_"I agreed to nothing, Serafim." _

_"But you said she would agree to this! You said she'd love me!" _

_"A woman's heart is known to be fickle, Serafim. I heard what she screamed at you. She hates you. You should reciprocate. What do you think?" _

Perhaps it was an accident. Carina was gripping his arms so tight he could not move them. And the blades were so close to Carina's throat. Perhaps it had been a reflex at hearing that familiar voice. Perhaps it had been a muscle spasm in his arm, protesting at the way Carina had been gripping him. Perhaps it was Carina's silent plea: 'please'. Perhaps it had been Carina herself. Perhaps it was all of these; perhaps it was none.

The Tojo blades whirled, and Carina gave a strangled cry. Her blood flew into the snow, sprayed his coat, his face, his blades… "NO!" Van Helsing stared in horror. "NO!" He tried to free his hands, stop the bleeding…

Carina turned her amber eyes to Van Helsing. "Listen to me!" She croaked, as the figures argued their way through the storm towards Van Helsing and the dying Carina. "Listen!"

Van Helsing could only stare in horror.

"Listen!" Carina coughed, and blood foamed over her lips. "You must kill… the King of the Vampyres… or your work will never be done…" Every word was an agony for her, but the vampyre blood in her gave her unnatural strength. It wouldn't last long, though. Not long at all.

"The King of the Vampyres?" Van Helsing frowned.

"Yes… Count Vladislaus Drakulya." She coughed - blood splattered on the front of her tunic. She struggled, gripping Van Helsing's arm even tighter. "Count… Dracula."

_It should have all ended with the death of that upstart young aristocrat. But it didn't. _

That name seemed to chill Van Helsing more than the sight of Carina's life pouring out of her. The name of a dead man. A dead man did this? A _dead_ man?

Van Helsing stared. "I killed him already. The son of Valerious the Elder? I killed him."

Carina made a feeble laugh. "You killed him? Then perhaps… you should know that he… he came back." Van Helsing felt the woman's grip on his arms loosening. Carina's eyes were glazing over. "He made a pact… with… the Devil. And now… there is nowhere… that he… will not spread… his poison."

Carina's amber eyes locked with Van Helsing's, boring into him. The grip of her hand was suddenly renewed, with almost clawlike ferocity. Blood trickled down his wrist - hers and his, mingling before falling into the snow and blossoming like the mockery of roses, the bright red colour paling to pink as it spread in the snow.

"Kill Dracula!" Carina hissed. "Or all your work will be undone!"

She let go, seeming to relax in his arms. "I have seen the goodness of the Lord in the land… of the living…" Her amber eyes strayed to Van Helsing's face. She smiled, slowly closing her eyes.

And then she was gone.

Two dark figures emerged from the blizzard.

"I love her! And my love will never die!"

"But _you_ did, Serafim. _You_ died…" The taller figure paused, his head titled on one side, smirking. He saw the figure of Van Helsing cradling the still body of Carina. "And so, it seems, did she."

"Carina!" Serafim leapt forward, his grave-grey face twisted in a mask of anguish. "NO!"

Van Helsing couldn't move - he couldn't defend himself, couldn't attack. He couldn't move. He braced himself for Serafim's rage. His eyes locked on Carina's pale face as he wished he'd been able to save her.

The stranger raised a languid eyebrow, then lifted his hand. "Heel, Serafim." He said, almost smirking, and flicked a finger. In mid-air, Serafim fell, crashing into the ground in a flurry of snow. The stranger smiled at Van Helsing. He still had that same arrogant smile that Van Helsing had seen him die with. "A pity," he said with mock-sadness, "She was such a beautiful woman."

_A man who looked capable of surviving anywhere, surviving anything._ That is how Carina described him. Van Helsing scowled in return. She was right. And she was right.

Serafim struggled to his feet, cursing and crying, trying to get to Carina. But there seemed to be something stopping him from getting any closer. An invisible wall. Or a leash.

"Enough, Serafim," The stranger said, sounding bored, "Your woman is dead. Get over it."

"No!" Serafim stared, wide-eyed, at the pale still form that Van Helsing still held in his arms. "No! If I give her my blood, she could live! She could be immortal! She would be one of us!" Serafim turned to the stranger, pleading. "Please!"

The stranger looked amused. "_Your_ blood would do nothing." He examined his nails, seemingly unconcerned with the storm that billowed around him. "It would be _my_ blood which would save her, and mine alone. You see, Serafim," The stranger smirked, "She did not belong to you. She belonged to _me_."

_I did not want him to drink my blood, understand that. But the damage had been done. _

Serafim's face contorted with rage, and he screeched with a vampyre's fury, throwing himself at the stranger. But the man just waved a hand, and Serafim was sent crashing into a snowdrift.

"Understand this!" The stranger laughed mockingly, "You are a puppet now. My puppet! And you will dance to the tune that I play! You are no longer the master of your own destiny - you are tied to mine! And I alone command you!"

"You bastard!" Serafim swore, this time unable even to rise. "I followed you to save her! You said she would be safe! You said she'd be FREE!"

The stranger shrugged. "I lied."

Serafim screamed, but this time his scream did not whip the storm into a frenzy. The storm remained just wind and snowflakes. Serafim lay helpless in the snow, staring up at the night sky with dead eyes. His breath did not smoke in the cold air - there was no warmth in his breath. He was dead, after all.

Van Helsing felt the body of Carina growing cold and stiff in his arms. The blood running down his wrist from the inside of his sleeves was clotting, freezing. He shifted, slightly, gently easing Carina's fingers from around his arms. He gently pulled himself free, laying the woman across his lap instead. Van Helsing set his Tojos, still red with Carina's blood, down.

The stranger turned his attention back to Van Helsing. "Forgive my servant's rudeness. He does not know how to behave in front of a guest." Every time the man spoke, he used sweeping hand gestures, moved gracefully, spoke by looking down or looking sideways at whomever he was speaking to. Carina had been right - this man was a showman, and Serafim had learned from him. Even Serafim's greeting when he had met Carina and Van Helsing in the village were an echo of this man's words. _I apologise for Carina's manners. She does not know how to conduct herself with a guest present._ Van Helsing said nothing.

The storm howled, and the darkness of the night seemed to grow as thick and as tangible as the soup Carina had made.

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" The stranger asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"I think you already know who I am," Van Helsing said, unable to hide the raw hatred in his voice. "And I know you." He glared at the stranger.

"Ah, of course," the man said, his smile not slipping for an instant. "For how could one forget the face… of one's murderer? It's been a while… Gabriel."

"Vladislaus. Son of Valerius." Van Helsing scowled.

The man shook his head. "I prefer Drakulya, or 'Dracula', as the peasants and superstitious call me. 'Son of the Dragon' has so much more effect than 'son of Valerious'." The man's arrogance was almost sickening, and his smirk never faded. "We just keep running into each other, don't we, Gabriel?"

Gabriel. That was his name. Van Helsing could remember now. That one elusive facet of his identity, that one part of him which kept flickering and dancing like a flame, keeping just out of reach. Yes. He was Gabriel. He had been sent by God to rid the world of evil. And this young aristocrat - Dracula - was evil through and through. The taint of his evil was unmistakeable. And strong, because even after Van Helsing had killed him, Dracula had survived.

_A man who looked capable of surviving anywhere, surviving anything. Much like yourself. _

Van Helsing turned his back on the man. Carina's face looked like a porcelain doll's. Van Helsing found himself choking back a sob - she had shown him such kindness, despite everything, and he had repaid her with death.

"It seems ironic," the vampyre said wryly, in a voice that was almost a purr, "That she should die so near to her father's grave."

Van Helsing looked up at Vladislaus - at Dracula. "I will see to it that she stays dead. You will not take her."

"Who are _you_ to give _me_ such orders?" Dracula looked amused.

Van Helsing levelled his pistol, aiming at the monster's heart. "Your murderer." He fired, two shots.

Dracula reeled, screeching. The snow parted in the darkness, the wind spinning the flakes of white around the staggering man's dark form. Blood that was thick and dark as the night itself sprayed through the air. Van Helsing watched - God forgive him if he didn't enjoy this! - as Dracula died. The man gave one last screech, and then fell.

Van Helsing leant back in the snow, and his hand brushed against something hard. The sword Carina had used to decapitate - protect - her father. The one she had dropped at her father's graveside. Van Helsing turned his gaze back to Carina. She looked so peaceful, as though she were only sleeping. It would be a sleep from which she would not wake. But at least her tormenter was dead. That was all Van Helsing could give her.

"Requiescant in pace." Van Helsing murmured. Then, closing his eyes, he spoke the 27th Psalm for her.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid? When evil men advance upon me to devour my flesh, when my enemies and my foes surround me, they will stumble and fall. Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be confident. One thing I ask of the Lord, this is what I seek: that I may dwell in the House of the Lord all the days of my life… for in the day of trouble He will keep me safe in His dwelling…" Van Helsing looked down at Carina. At the woman who had sheltered him and kept him safe. At the woman who bore no taint of evil, even to the end. At the woman who would surely find rest in God's Kingdom. "I am still confident of this," Van Helsing continued, tears in his eyes, "I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord, be strong, take heart, and wait for the Lord."

Van Helsing looked up, and saw Serafim standing not too far away. His shoulders were slumped, but there was gratitude in his eyes. "Carina loved that psalm," the vampyre said sadly. "She had such strength, such courage. Even to the end." Serafim sighed. "If only I had been gifted with a portion of her strength."

Van Helsing stood up, gathering Carina's body into his arms. "I have to bury her." Carina's body was light in his arms compared to the heaviness in his heart.

Serafim nodded. "Wherever you bury her, good sir, I will see to it that none of the villagers go near her grave." His eyes were burdened. "I will protect her in death, because I could not protect her in life."

"Touching, gentlemen. Very touching."

Serafim and Van Helsing both turned, staring. Dracula rose to his feet, straightening his jacket. "That might have been very annoying," he said calmly, "If that had been lethal." He glowered at Serafim. "You are more of a hindrance than a help, Serafim. Get out of the way."

Serafim moved between Van Helsing and the Vampyre. "Kill me, then. I'll not obey you any longer, Son of the Devil!"

Dracula laughed. "Even the Devil was an angel once. You should know that, Serafim. Your name, after all, means 'angel'. Yet here you are… with the soul of a devil in you."

"I'll be a devil no longer, you bastard!"

In the darkness, over the moan of the blizzard, came the sound of beating wings. Van Helsing felt his scalp prickle. The villagers were coming. He didn't have time to spare. Ignoring the taunts and insults that were flying between Serafim and Dracula, Van Helsing felt around in the snow. He soon found what he was looking for.

He needed a grave, a coffin, a tomb for Carina's body. Carina did not deserve to have her body desecrated by the weather and wild beasts. But this was the middle of winter. It would take days to dig through the frozen ground. And he needed garlic and a stake to insure the vampyres couldn't take her.

The warehouse.

With barely a second to think, Van Helsing heaved Carina's body into his arms, grabbed the sword, and started running. The storm suddenly burst down upon Van Helsing. The wind clawed at him, trying to slow him. The villagers' shrieks and screams pulled at his senses. But Van Helsing would not be deterred. He ran to the warehouse, and did not stop for anything.

The door was still open. Van Helsing hurried inside, and slammed the door shut. It would keep the villagers at bay, if only for a while.

This warehouse had been Carina's home. It would serve as her tomb.

The wind was getting furious, and the villagers' screams louder. Van Helsing could hear them just outside. But they were hesitating. Waiting. Why?

Van Helsing set Carina down gently, then raised the sword above his head.

"Forgive me," he whispered, and brought it down.

It had the same effect on the villagers as Carina calling them 'monsters'. Their voices rose in unearthly screeches and shrieks. This time, though, their voices did not just harm the ears. Van Helsing felt their voices battering at his mind. He clamped both hands over his ears, his own screams rising with the howl of the storm.

_Be strong, take heart, and wait for the Lord. _

Repeating this phrase again and again in his mind was the only way to keep sane. To keep control over himself. Carina wasn't there to grip his arm this time. Carina's favourite psalm was the only thing of hers which could help him.

_Carina_. He had to finish this, now. Staggering through the villagers' screams, Van Helsing took some of the dried garlic flowers from off the walls, and gently placed them between Carina's scarlet lips. And then, he lifted the sword in both hands. Pleading silently for forgiveness once more, he drove the sword into her heart, pinning Carina's body to the floor. There was so much blood, but it was over.

It was done. God forgive him, but Carina was safe now.

Van Helsing's eyes were drawn to a sparkle of metal. Freed from her severed neck, a small wooden cross on a silver chain slipped free, falling to the floor without a sound. Van Helsing reverently picked it up, wiping Carina's blood from it. She had worn this. She had worn this cross, proof against the vampyres and proof of her faith. Van Helsing closed his hand around the tiny wooden icon, and bowed his head. Tears came freely.

The screams outside continued, but the screams were not of rage and frustration, but grief and regret. They were mourning her. The vampyres were mourning for Carina. But they could not come into the warehouse. The crosses and the ichthus kept them away.

It didn't keep one of them away. Van Helsing whirled, his pistol readied. The cries outside died, and the silence was almost as deafening as the villager's screams.

Dracula looked hurt as he stared at the desecrated - protected - body of Carina. "Oh, please, Gabriel! Have some respect for the dead!" He shook his head sadly. "Such a pity. Such a great pity. She would have been quite useful." He sighed. "A shame she is dead."

"She was dead the day you drank her blood," Van Helsing retorted. "Dead then, dead now, what's the difference?" Van Helsing was taunting the vampyre deliberately, waiting to see his reaction.

Dracula looked at Van Helsing patronisingly. "What good would she be to me without a head? Not only that, but her kisses would taste foul." He indicated the garlic with a sweep of the hand. But under the veneer of nonchalance, Dracula was afraid. Van Helsing could tell.

_I know how to kill you, vampyre. I know how to make sure you die, and stay dead. _

Dracula smiled politely, and nodded at Van Helsing's pistol. "We have already established that you can't kill me with bullets, Gabriel. It didn't work last time, it didn't work five minutes ago, and it won't work this time."

A handful of snow slid off the roof and fell into the ashes of the old fire. A whisper of wind crawled down after it, and brushed Van Helsing's face with icy familiarity.

"What?"

Dracula looked amused, then laughed. "You don't _remember_, Gabriel?" Dracula drew the word out, like a caress. He laughed again, then smiled. "I thought you wouldn't."

Van Helsing stared, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. Slowly, he lowered his pistol.

"As I said," Dracula swept his arms wide, "We just keep running into each other. These past two years… Well, let's just say that I never thought I'd get to know my own murderer so well!" The smirking face of Dracula betrayed nothing - nothing but the knowledge that he was one-up on Van Helsing. "But it saddens me that you do not remember our meetings, Gabriel." A savage light glowed up in the vampyre's eyes. "And that you won't remember this one either."

Van Helsing reached back, under his coat, for a weapon. Any weapon. "I will never forget what happened today."

"Oh, I think you will." Dracula started crossing the floor with slow measured steps, forcing Van Helsing to back away. "Just like you forgot the last 'today', and the one before that, and the one before that. We have such a history, Gabriel. You weren't _born yesterday_. But you are certainly reinvented." Gone was the showman's purring - Dracula's voice was harsher now. Dangerous.

"As always, Gabriel," Dracula smiled, spreading his arms one more, "I offer you the chance to join me. Join me, and I will restore your memories. All of them. The ones you lost in order to kill me, the ones of your life before you knew me… I have them all." He tapped the side of his head. "Join me, and I will restore them."

"Join you?" Van Helsing frowned. "Join you in what? Undeath? As a vampyre?"

Dracula shrugged. "Why not? You and I… we could be partners. Brothers-in-arms."

"To what end?"

"To make the world a better place," Dracula smiled, thinking he had won Van Helsing over. "A better place for us, at least. For my kind - our kind, if you join us. And, as a bonus, you would regain all that you had forgotten."

"What _have_ I forgotten?"

This time, Dracula's smile was darker. "Things which would give even the bravest man nightmares, Gabriel."

"Then maybe some things are best left forgotten," Van Helsing growled, whipping his hands from behind his back, throwing the small knives with lightning speed. While Dracula staggered backwards over the ashes with the blades in his chest, Van Helsing threw open the warehouse door and dashed out into the snow.

Dracula was waiting for him, pulling the blades out of his neck and chest with a bored expression on his face. "This is getting rather irritating." The vampyre said, throwing the blades aside. "Very well then, Gabriel. If you don't want your memories restored… perhaps I shall take away tonight and add it to my collection." He smiled, almost kindly. "Don't worry. Just as before, it won't hurt."

The Tojo blades slid out of Van Helsing's sleeves and into his hands. "You can try," he challenged, and set the blades spinning in readiness.

Dracula snarled, and… _shifted_. What was human vanished under the skin of some kind of monster. A huge, batlike thing, all teeth and claws and wings. Van Helsing himself was taken aback, but only for a moment. The vampyre threw himself at Van Helsing.

**_IT COULD BE PAINLESS, GABRIEL!_** The creature roared. **_IT COULD BE SIMPLE, AND QUICK! WHY PROLONG THIS?_**

Van Helsing spun his hands, defending himself with one blade while attacking with the other. "Because there are some things about today that I do not wish to forget!"

**_WHAT LIKE? THAT GIRL YOU MURDERED? _**

"I did not murder her!"

Dracula laughed, and swung a claw towards Van Helsing's face. Van Helsing lifted both blades up to his face, to protect himself from the vampyre's blow. Black ichor sprayed in the snow, and the thing that was Dracula roared in pain.

One of the creature's clawed fingers landed at Van Helsing's feet. The batlike creature himself was staggering away, his wings spreading wide, cradling what was left of his hand to his chest.

Van Helsing knelt down and picked the finger out of the snow. On the finger was a signet ring. A silver winged serpent set in jet-black stone.

**_GIVE THAT BACK. _**

Van Helsing looked up at the bat-monster which was hovering just above his head. "Take it from me…" he held one of the Tojo blades over it, and spun it threateningly. "If you can."

**_YOU WOULDN'T DARE…_** The vampyre glowered

"Would it be such a great loss to lose a finger?" Van Helsing asked, mockingly.

**_I WAS TALKING ABOUT THE RING, GABRIEL. _**

"If it's of such great value to you, then perhaps I'll keep it."

Dracula leered, showing all of his fangs in a savage grin. **_THEN PERHAPS I SHALL TAKE SOMETHING OF YOURS. SOMETHING YOU HOLD IN SUCH! HIGH! REGARD!_** The vampyre swooped down at Van Helsing, almost too fast to see. Van Helsing's blades whirled, and black vampyre blood flew, but all in vain.

The night belonged to the vampyres. Their powers were strongest then.

As Van Helsing felt his mind give way, he saw the smirking human face of Vladislaus Drakulya looking down at him.

_"You and I… we shall meet again." _

* * *

Van Helsing sat up, groggily, the taste of his own blood strong in his mouth. His vision spun, his senses were fogged. Where…? 

It was cold. Snowing. The wind was crisp and sharp, making him draw a breath sharply in reply. Through swimming vision, through the anaemic light of a winter dawn, Van Helsing could see a small hovel covered in snow. It looked half-collapsed. Ramshackle. The roof was completely iced over. In the distance, a town. Or at least, what had been a town. It was ruined now. Van Helsing could smell the smoke. It had burned recently. Someone - or something - had burnt it to the ground.

There was blood on Van Helsing's hands. Blood. And the smell of garlic. The rosary at his wrist was intertwined with a necklace. A silver necklace with a wooden cross. The cross was stained by blood, the blood of some saint…

A swirl of memories - blackness.

Van Helsing woke for a second time. It must have been noon. He had been lying in the snow for hours. And all he had seen between dawn and noon were nightmares. Flashes of images too bright and vivid to be just dreams.

_You are free to go. _

That voice. A woman's voice. Who…? Van Helsing closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember. His head throbbed, he fought to keep consciousness. What had happened? There was only darkness. And the smell of blood. Nothing. No name. No recollection. No memories.

All that came to mind was a woman - a somehow familiar face, with such piercing amber eyes - dying in his arms, gripping his arm with such ferocity. The blood in the snow. The darkness of night and the white petals of snow.

_"Kill Dracula!"_ A name, and a face - an arrogant man in black, watching the woman die. _A pity. She was such a beautiful woman. She belonged to me._

Van Helsing peered through the storm, and saw nothing but white. There was evil in the air. Not here, at least. But there was something drawing him, like a lodestone… something dark and sinister to the west, the east, the north and the south. Evil, everywhere. Calling for him to put an end to them. Different signatures, different taints. One seemed familiar, but that familiarity - and the memories that may have come with it - was gone just as quickly as the plume of his breath in the storm.

There was a cold hard object in his fist. Uncurling his hand, Van Helsing saw a small black-and-silver signet ring. He slipped it onto his ring finger. It fit him perfectly. Like it had been made for him.

Another flash of images. The face of that woman, that beautiful woman with the piercing eyes, somehow linked to a taste of blood. And then, his own voice.

_Rome__. To the __Vatican_

An order? A plea? What had he lost? Why was he to go to the Vatican? Would he find answers there?

There was only one way to find out.

Rising to his feet, Van Helsing steadied himself. He pulled the scarf over his mouth, the brim of his hat low over his face… and then trudged on through the snow. 

**FIN**

* * *

Thankyou for reading. :) 


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